


Once More, From the Top

by MistressDandelion



Category: Night World - L. J. Smith
Genre: Ace!Hugh, Affection, Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Bonding, Comfort, Developing Relationship, M/M, Old Friends, Old Souls, Romance, Soulmates, Supernatural Elements, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2020-10-04 08:03:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20467733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressDandelion/pseuds/MistressDandelion
Summary: Hugh lives a fairly normal life, despite losing his family to a pack of werewolves when he was seven years old. Despite a lifetime of trauma and trials, he's managed to find a little bit of normalcy in a job and a home. He has a routine, and things are quiet, just the way he likes it.When a familiar face he hasn't seen in ten years suddenly reappears, his quiet life is turned topsy-turvy.A story of shared trauma, murder, and finding ways to move on together.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I realize this fandom is basically dead.
> 
> No, I won't stop writing fics for it. 
> 
> I've had this idea in my head for a while, ever since I decided to give Hugh a soulmate in an rp I did on Tumblr years ago. Now I'm finally writing it. It'll probably end up half-finished like all my other fics, but whatever.
> 
> Have some fluffy Hugh.

_ Beeping. The steady, metallic rhythm of someone’s heartbeat on a hospital monitor. _

_ Not  _ someone’s _ heartbeat.  _ His  _ heartbeat. The robotic tempo matching perfectly with the slow beating of his heart.  _

_ He blinked, his eyelids fluttering open briefly. Bright, artificial light. Again, this time managing to keep his eyes open long enough to see stark, white walls and an array of unfamiliar screens. His eyes were so heavy, his mind so muddled.  _

_ Sleep. Sleep was what he needed.  _

_ But. . . Why was he in a hospital? With a monumental effort, he forced his eyes open again. The beeping from the monitor increased its tempo, speeding up as his heart jumped into overdrive.  _

_ Why? Where? How long? How long had he been asleep, oblivious to everything around him?  _

_ “Hello?” His voice came out like the cracked voice of an old man. He swallowed away some of the dryness in his throat and tried again. “Hello?”  _

_ When he struggled to sit up, he felt the drag of tubes in his left arm, but that was quickly overshadowed when pain radiated from his left thigh all the way up into his lower back. He gasped and fell back, tears squeezing out as he clenched his eyes and his teeth against the flare of fire.  _

_ “Oh, sweetie, try not to move.”  _

_ A nurse, her figure just barely visible through his slitted eyes. She hurried across the room, checked each of the screens, and pressed a button that sent warmth spreading through him in a slow, soft roll. “You’re still healing, hun. The doctor’s coming in to see you now that you’re awake. How do you feel?”  _

_ He felt  _ bad,  _ how did she think he felt? His throat was dry and aching, his eyes were crusty from long, artificial sleep, and there was still the soft, dull ache in his leg, though that had been slowly receding since she’d pressed the button. Instead of answering, he looked right at her. “Where are my parents?” _

_ She wouldn’t meet his eye. Most adults found his gaze unsettling, though few, if any, of them could have said why. “The doctor will tell you everything. Don’t worry, hun.”  _

_ She was gone before he could ask anything more.  _

_ When the doctor came, he woke more easily. He’d only dozed, drifting in and out of a light, pain-filled sleep. He was uneasy, his mind swirling as it sifted through the last few things he recalled. Mostly it was just panic, and screaming. Fire. And pain. Lots of pain. So much pain, and so much  _ blood.  _ His mind shied away from the memories.  _

_ Not yet.  _

_ The doctor was a strong-jawed, pleasant-in-a-business-like-way white woman. She came into the room at a brisk pace, followed by a dark man in a suit and a thick beard.  _

_ “Glad to see you awake.” She said, politely not looking at him as he rubbed his eyes. “I’m Dr. Gray. The operation went really well, bud. Your leg will heal just fine.”  _

_ He glanced at his leg. It ached so abominably, he had trouble imagining it ever  _ not  _ hurting. Then he looked up at the woman, meeting her steady gaze. She looked right back at him, surprising him, but not enough to keep him from asking what he wanted—needed—to ask. _

_ “Where are my parents? My family? How are they?”  _

_ To her credit, the doctor didn’t look away. Instead, she met his eyes for a long, long moment, and then gestured to the man who’d followed her into the room. “Hugh, this is Dr. DePaula. He’s a licensed psychologist. He’s. . . Well,”  _

_ The man finally stepped forward. He took a seat in the hard, plastic hospital chair beside Hugh’s bed and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. He, too, looked steadily into Hugh’s face. “I’m here to help you heal, too, but not physically.”  _

_ Hugh’s heart had gone haywire, beating so hard inside his chest it hurt. The machine beside his bed echoed the beats, beeping faster with each second that passed without a direct answer. “Where is my family?” He asked it again, trying to sit up straight again only to be met with the pain shooting up from his leg. “Why won’t you answer me? Tell me what happened to them!”  _

_ But he knew what had happened. Even as he scrambled frantically to sit, ignoring the pain in his leg, ignoring the doctor trying to push him back down, he knew.  _

_ They were gone.  _

_ All of them.  _

_ His parents. His brother. Sandra, his dear baby sister.  _

_ All of them dead, torn to pieces by the wolves that had attacked their camp.  _

_ The doctor was trying to keep him still, and he cursed, not for the first time, being stuck in a slowly aging child’s body. “Hugh, please calm down.” She sounded a little frantic herself, her calm persona slipping in the face of his own despair. “We want to tell you what happened, but you need to calm down first. Your stitches aren’t healed.”  _

_ From the corner, Dr. DePaula spoke up. His voice was soft, but it resonated inside Hugh like he’d used a megaphone. “Hugh, your family is gone.”  _

_ He stilled, letting the words sift through his brain. He’d known it. He’d known when he first woke, but he hadn’t wanted to face it. Somehow, hearing it said aloud in that calm voice made it real, in a way simply knowing hadn’t. He looked across at the psychologist.  _

_ “How much do you remember, Hugh?”  _

_ “We were camping. . . It was the last big trip before going back to school. And. . .” He didn’t want to say it. Looking into the psychologist’s eyes, he struggled with the words.  _

_ “And there was a horrible accident.” He finished the thought. “Your family were attacked by a pack of wolves. Possibly rabid, though they tested you and found no sign. You were injured severely. Your leg—“ he finally hesitated, and Hugh followed his gaze down to the leg in question, still aching abominably beneath the blanket. “The doctor here and her team of excellent surgeons saved your leg. You nearly lost it. There will be scarring, and it’s likely you’ll walk with a permanent limp.”  _

_ Hugh wasn’t quite listening. He didn’t care about himself. This body—this life—was temporary, like all his bodies. But that couldn’t stop the grief from gripping him.  _

_ Or the anger.  _

_ Tears began to fall against his will. Hot, burning tracks down his cheeks, they came on like a storm.  _

_ His family was gone. _

_ And those dirty wolf bastards would never face justice.  _

  
  


\--------

When the clock tower struck, the chimes echoing once, twice, five times over the city, Hugh promptly turned his keys in the lock. The library was officially closed for business. Heaving out a sigh of relief, he sagged, resting one shoulder against the door. The library was his dream job, but some days could be much worse than others.

It was days like this that made him drink.

Shaking his head, he chuckled to himself. He wasn’t serious, of course. There were a multitude of things in his life that drove him to stop by a bar a few times a week; chief among them was his total inability to do much more in the kitchen than bake.

Food could motivate even this particular hermit. 

He sighed and pushed himself away from the wall, pulling his bag higher on his shoulder. Several of his coworkers circled together in the parking lot, shoulder-to-shoulder and laughing. Hugh avoided walking too closely to their circle, but still, Jessica called out as he passed. 

“Hugh! It’s Friday! Come out with us!” 

“Maybe next time.” He lifted a hand, waving away the chorus of groans. 

“You say that every time,” Jack, now, shaking his head. “Someday, we’ll get you. Karaoke night, and we’ll all see you out of that shell!” 

A grin he didn’t mean stretched Hugh’s face. 

That was never going to happen. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t like his coworkers, he mused as he made his slow way down the street, limping with each step. He actually quite liked them. Some of them he might even venture to call friends. 

But spending a Friday night in a crowded club while his coworkers drank and acted silly wasn’t exactly his idea of a good time. 

He put his headphones in and turned on the audio book he’d been listening to that morning. The narrator’s voice, soft like a close friend in his ear, surrounded him, and he lost himself in the story. 

He’d just finished a chapter when he stepped into his favorite bar.

The Sandman’s Rest wasn’t exactly a dive. He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the darkness that had only a few overhead lights breaking through. The room stretched out before him, the bar a single, long stretch of counter that started only a few feet inside the door and carried on nearly to the other side of the room. A pool table with three men playing around it stood in the corner at the far end of the room. Music played at a comfortable volume from the old-fashioned jukebox near the bar. 

He tipped his chin up in greeting as he recognized a few of the faces already seated along the bar. 

By the time he took a seat, Steven had already laid out a square napkin and a drink in a rocks glass. “Hi, Hugh.”

Hugh nodded in thanks, shoving the accustomed fiver into the jar on the counter.

And that was that. Hugh hadn’t even taken out his earbuds, though as he lifted the drink to his lips with one hand, he unlocked his phone with the thumbprint on his other and paused the book. An instant later, he had his music up, shuffling through to find his Work Playlist. It was full of feel-good songs, to keep his mood up after a shitty shift. 

And today  _ had _ been a shitty shift. 

The library was beautiful, his coworkers mostly pleasant to work with. He’d dreamed of being a librarian since he was a child—the job was the only remnant of his childhood left to him. But there were some days that tested him, and most of them were in summer, when entitled parents brought their bratty children into the library, at a loss for what else to do with their offspring all summer. 

He settled in with his music and drink, letting himself relax for the first time all day. 

Hugh never stayed for less than an hour in the Sandman. He had his routine, and he stuck to it. Sometimes a new face came in, but mostly he saw the same people. He drank the same drink, and cycled through a small variety of meals served by the gruff-looking men in the kitchen. 

Tonight . . . He noticed immediately when the door opened and emitted a wild-looking young woman. He had never seen her before, but he recognized her immediately for what she was; the black foxglove pinned to the lapel of her jacket was a dead give away. They thought they were so damn  _ clever,  _ with their secret signals. Never realizing that he, just a stupid human, could peg one of them for what they were at a glance. 

The flower was a good hint, a little more obvious than they usually went. Most of them went with brooches or other jewelry. Some had even started wearing clothing with the flowers on them. He  _ did  _ spare a moment to wonder where she’d gotten a real foxglove in that deadly black color, but soon gave up wondering. He didn’t care. 

It was time to go. 

With a quick glance in Steven’s direction, he stood up. Steven wandered over with his tab already printed, and Hugh paid it without paying much attention to the bills he slapped down on the bar. He was watching the wolf, watching her practically stalk through the bar, clearly enjoying the attention she was getting from the drunker patrons.

He needed to go. 

_ Now. _

He couldn’t have run if he’d wanted to, his bad leg mandating a slow walk at all times, but he did his best to speed up a little. He wanted out and away from the wolf. 

He was so preoccupied leaving the bar that he didn’t notice the dog until it was too late. Stray dogs weren’t an unusual sight, but he’d never seen one so close to civilization. He turned the corner and there it was, already growling, already angry before he’d even noticed it’s presence. 

It barked, and he scrambled away from it so quickly he lost his footing. The cement slammed his bad hip, and he gasped. But no time. No time to notice the pain while he was faced with gaping jaws and wild yellow eyes. 

He froze, staring at the creature. It wasn’t a wolf. His conscious mind knew that, but the rest of him . . . The rest of him knew he was going to die. He’d slipped back, back to that childhood camping trip, back to being held down by iron-hard hands. The creature barked, snarling as it advanced a step or two. 

He couldn’t do a thing to stop it. 

When the rock came hurtling from behind him, he thought for an instant it had been meant for  _ him.  _ The dog lurched and yelped, snarling again, but this time at something behind Hugh. 

Whipping his head around, he searched, searched, and—yes!—found the person who’d thrown the rock. Another rock bounced in their palm, before suddenly whipping through the air toward the dog. It yelped again, and Hugh turned back toward it in time to see it flee, tail tucked between its legs. 

“You alright, buddy?” 

The voice was fuzzy, and Hugh realized he still had his earbuds in, music still playing. He’d been so focused on the dog he hadn’t been hearing it. Yanking the earbuds out, he let out a breath. He thought his soul might have left with it. “I’m okay. Could you, uh, maybe help me up?” He gestured to his bad leg, sticking out at an odd angle, stiff and sore already. He’d be feeling that tomorrow, for sure. 

“Sure you’re not hurt?” A hand poked into his vision, encased in a leather glove. He took it, feeling the warmth of the hand beneath like a spark. Briefly, he wondered if he was in shock. 

“I’m fine,” he looked up as he grasped the man’s hand, and the words he’d been about to say died on his tongue. 

He’d looked up into the face of a ghost. A dark-skinned, long-haired, leather-jacket-wearing ghost. Just now, that dark face was pale, the nearly-black eyes wide and almost frightened. 

“Hugh?” 

“ _ Ev?!” _


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected meeting turns into unexpected lunch plans.

_ No one had ever done the modern-day foster system justice in their stories, their documentaries, their biographies. It was everything anyone had ever described and more. It was loneliness times infinity. Fear of bodily harm that was only multiplied for every minority you fit into. _

_ Hugh was lucky he was white. _

_ And Hugh was lucky he was straight-passing. _

_ He was also lucky, though few would ever have noticed it, that he was Human-Passing. No one except the most knowledgeable and the most sharp-eyed of Night World inhabitants would have noticed he was anything but a run-of-the-mill human. _

_ And that was where the Malkin family came into his life. _

_ He wouldn’t have noticed them except for the particularly feline look in their eyes. Mrs. Malkin had a sharp gaze, but a kind demeanor. She came to meet him with her husband, Mr. Malkin, who shared her feline eyes, but who lacked her sharp-eyed, jagged-edged wit. She was pretty, in a wild sort of way. He was like an old neighborhood tomcat who’d gotten used to being fed and coddled by the neighborhood kids. _

_ “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Hugh,” She smiled at him, and he was ninety-percent sure he was the only one who noticed that her canines were sharper than any human’s teeth. _

_ He only stared. _

_ He knew about shapeshifters. They weren’t like _ wolves, _ of course. They were usually smarter than wolves, for one. And usually kinder. _

_ But they weren’t human. _

_ “I know you won’t trust us for a long time. We aren’t hoping to be your parents. We know we’ll never replace your mother and father. But we hope we can offer you a life that will be more normal than anything you’d have here.” _

_ By _ here _ , she’d meant the Foster System. Moving from place to place. Belongings, what little he’d collected since leaving the hospital, held together in a black garbage bag. Like everything he owned was nothing but trash. _

_ But he still couldn’t help but snort out a laugh. A normal life? With a couple of shapeshifters? The thought was almost too ridiculous to be funny. Even Hugh knew, from several lifetimes worth of knowledge and research, that shapeshifters were barely members of the Night World. Still, though . . . what sort of life would he, a human, have with them? _

_ “Why should I go with you?” _

_ The social worker had already left, persuaded into it by the sharp-toothed grin of Mrs. Malkin. Hugh might have said he’d been influenced, if he didn’t know better. He probably just hadn’t cared enough to put up a fight. What was one boy among hundreds of children, and who would care if someone wanted to take advantage of his situation. The social worker should have stayed, to protect the Malkins as much as Hugh, but he’d gone. Hugh and the Malkins could speak without fear of being interrupted, but Hugh wasn’t sure he really wanted to hear what they had to say. _

_ Mrs. Malkin smiled again, that sharp-toothed smile that was still somehow soft, like a feral cat you’d half-tamed. “You don’t fit here, Hugh. With these humans. You’re. . . you’re not quite one of them, are you? And you know what killed your family, don’t you?” _

_ Of course he knew. _

_ But he still flinched, tears coming to his eyes. He was still a human child, a human boy who’d lost his family in a horrendous accident. _

_ Dashing at the tears, he glared at the couple who had come to collect him. “Do I have a choice? What are you going to do with me? You know I’ll just come back if you kill me, and I’ll remember everything. And maybe next time I’ll be strong enough to kill you, without this. . . without this _ leg. _ I’ll be strong enough to get revenge.” _

_ Mrs. Malkin’s laugh was just as sharp as her smile, but somehow he knew she didn’t mean it unkindly. And her eyes, gray like a storm threatening to break all around him, were soft. “Hugh,” his name came out of her mouth like a promise. “We’re not here to hurt you. We,” here she indicated her husband, who smiled his own, soft smile. “We try to help people like you. Not--not always humans, you understand? We try to help those who are alone. We know you lost your parents, your siblings. We know you’re hurting. And we know you know what killed your family. We know what you are.” _

_ And what was he? His breath caught in his throat. _

_ So few people knew what he was, let-alone what he was capable of. _

_ “We’re just trying to help. I know you’re hurting, Hugh. You’re hurting, you’re grieving. And we’re not going to try to replace your family. We take in a lot of young people like you. You’ll be among a lot of people like you, though. . . not everyone will be quite as human as you. We just want to help you. Do you understand?” _

_ \-------- _

“Everette?!”

“Jesus Christ, Hugh!” His hand caught Hugh’s forearm, the leather soft and warm against his skin, and Hugh found himself pulled to his feet almost against his will. Ev could have pulled him up even if he’d been resisting, but Hugh was too stunned to resist. He could only rise to his feet, finding an unsteady stance as he leaned all his weight on his good leg, clinging to Ev’s hand like a lifeline. 

“Are you okay?” 

Hugh blinked, shaking himself. He clutched Ev’s hand, clinging to the warmth of his skin beneath the leather gloves. His leg ached, and his ears were ringing, despite the fact he’d yanked his earbuds out and silenced his feel-good music. Looking up into Everette’s face really was like seeing a ghost. It had been years since he’d seen the other man--and, he realized with a start, Ev really was a man, now. The older of the two, he must’ve been closer to thirty than twenty, and the longer Hugh looked into his face, the more surprised he was that he’d recognized Ev at all. 

There was a lot there that was familiar; the eyes, almond-shaped and so dark brown they were almost black. The jawline, defined, but hidden now under a goatee. And the facial hair wasn’t the only difference. His hair, once kept short and neat, was a wild mane of dark curls, swept carelessly back from his face to fall to his shoulders. The leather jacket and gloves were also new, and as Hugh glanced behind him, he saw a motorcycle that would have explained the get-up nicely. People said you didn’t change much in appearance between your teenage years and adulthood, but Ev had changed so much he was near unrecognizable. But there was no mistaking that warmth, the undeniable sense of _ Ev. _

“Hugh?” Ev touched his shoulder, peering into his face. “I said, are you okay?”

Hugh shook his head again, forcing his thoughts into order. “I’m fine, just. . . goddess, Ev, I--I can’t believe it!” The surprise was wearing away, and now another feeling was welling up; something like joy, tinged with sadness borne of shared grief. “It’s been ages.” 

The grin that spread across Ev’s face was familiar as his own reflection. “Something like ten years?” 

“Yeah,” running a hand through his hair, Hugh stared up into Ev’s face. He was still, Hugh was disappointed to see, the taller of the two of them, a full three inches taller than he was. For an instant they stared at one another, and then Hugh found himself leaning forward, falling into a familiar embrace, and they were hugging. He wrapped his arms around Ev’s waist and squeezed hard, enveloped in a warmth and sense of safety he hadn’t felt since he was a teenager. 

Ev smelled of cigarette smoke, a different scent than the smoke he was used to from his own unfortunate habit. The leather jacket was cool against Hugh’s face, and he pressed harder against Ev, suddenly overwhelmed. He never wanted to let go, or to be let go. 

Ev tightened his arms around Hugh’s shoulders, letting Hugh lean most of his weight against him. “Sure you’re okay? That leg’s never been too sturdy. Were you going home? I can get you there faster than walking.” 

Laughing, Hugh pulled away at last. He swiped at his eyes, not sure where the flood of emotion had come from. All he knew was that he was stunned and overjoyed to see Everette again. “My leg’s killing me, honestly. That dog scared the shit out of me,” he laughed again, shakily. He was already stiff and sore from the fall, and he hadn’t been looking forward to the walk home. “You’re not gonna make me ride on _ that, _are you?” 

Ev followed his glance toward the motorcycle, that old, familiar grin spreading across his face again. “Why, scared?” 

“Just practical. I know the statistics for motorcycle accidents, and the survival rates. I’m not exactly eager to start all over again after making it to my twenties. Again.” 

They laughed together, and Hugh was struck by the sudden thought that he’d never expected to hear Ev’s laugh again. He didn’t know when that expectation had come to be, but somewhere in the last decade, he’d simply come to expect that he and Ev would never cross paths again. Looking up into Ev’s face, he realized how desperately he’d missed the man. 

“C’mon. I’ve got an extra helmet, and I’ll be extra careful. You humans are so squishy.” He led Hugh to the bike. Wordlessly, he handed his phone over to Hugh as they walked; a map application was open, and Hugh hastily tapped his address into the search bar. He really wasn’t far, but if Ev was new in the area, it made sense. True to his word, Ev offered up a helmet a moment later. It was one of those ones that covered your head and face entirely, and as Hugh put it on, he suddenly felt anonymous and _ cool. _Cool was not something he ever felt, let alone when he was sore and limping worse than usual.

A comforting weight fell on his shoulders, and Ev came into view in front of him. “Here. Wear that, yeah?” He’d taken off his jacket and draped it over Hugh’s shoulders. 

As he pushed his arms into the sleeves, Hugh watched Ev settle onto the bike. Beneath the jacket, he wore nothing but a black tank top. The muscles in his upper arms flexed as he adjusted something on the bike. “What about you?” Hugh settled into place behind him, immediately and instinctively wrapping his arms around Ev’s waist again. 

Ev’s voice was muffled through the helmet. “If we crash, _ I’ll _ be fine. You’re the one who’d get torn up. Can’t lose you again after I just found you.” Hugh could barely make out the last bit, as Ev kicked the bike to life and spoke under the roar of the engine. But he made out just enough to feel suddenly warm; or maybe that was just Ev’s body in his arms, his back pressed against Hugh’s chest as he squeezed harder. His heart was racing away in his chest; he’d never ridden a motorcycle, not in this life, not in _ any _of his lives.

It was a little like being in a car, but windier, and faster. There was only so much maneuverability in a car, whereas on the motorcycle, Ev could whip through traffic like it didn’t exist. Breathless, Hugh wondered how Ev normally drove, if _ this _was being extra careful.

By the time they pulled to a stop outside his flat, Hugh’s heart had settled some. The ride had passed in a blur of lights and rushing wind, and the soft, tingling warmth of Ev’s back against his chest. He realized he was shaking as he sat back and let go of Everette. And, with significantly more dismay, he realized he wouldn’t be able to dismount the bike on his own. 

Ev pulled his own helmet off in one smooth movement, hair tumbling free to fall in a wild mass around his shoulders. Hugh managed to remove his helmet with significantly less grace a moment later, and looked up at Ev with a self-conscious smile. “Could you gimme a hand?” He gestured to his bad leg, grimacing. 

Ev immediately came to his aid, reaching for his hand and pulling. Though Hugh could feel the muscles in his leg pulling uncomfortably as he struggled to swing it across the bike, he managed. Barely. But Ev’s hands were steady, and he held Hugh upright even as his bad leg threatened to give out on him. 

For a second he just stood, breathing through a spasm of pain that radiated up his leg from his knee up into his thigh and lower back. He’d been left with some nerve damage on top of the scars and limp, and there was no telling when the sudden, burning pain would flare. 

Used to this after years of dealing with Hugh’s sporadic and often debilitating pain, Ev waited patiently until Hugh straightened up and let out a long breath. 

When he spoke, his voice was gentler than it’d been all night. “Still hurts, huh?” 

“Almost constantly. I’ve gotten used to it.” He tried not to let his grimace show too clearly, but he’d never been able to hide anything from Ev. Even now, Ev was looking at him with the too-long stare Hugh usually associated with irritated cats. 

“You were always too good at getting used to things.” Before Hugh could ask what he meant by that, Ev went on. “Do you need help inside?”

“I think I’ll manage.” He shook his head, finally letting go of Ev’s steadying hands. “Are you in town for long? We need to catch up.” 

“Yeah, we do.” There was something ominous in Ev’s tone, something that made Hugh suddenly anxious. “Are you free tomorrow? I’ll come pick you up. We’ll do lunch.” 

Hugh agreed, and stepped up onto the sidewalk to watch Ev slide comfortably back onto the motorcycle. The engine roared, growling out of its idling purr, and with a wave of one hand and a roar of the engine, Ev was gone. 

It wasn’t until he’d stepped through the front door that Hugh realized he was still wearing the leather jacket. 


End file.
